


"Wicked is good? Not bloody likely!"

by ilikeyougreenie



Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minho Ships It, Newt is a Dork, Oblivious Newt, Teresa Is So Done, Wicked and The Glade are coffee shops, thomas is adorable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-03 08:43:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4094458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilikeyougreenie/pseuds/ilikeyougreenie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t mean to sound rude, but what brings you down here? Y’know, with another coffee shop across the road and all?” Newt inquired politely, shielding his eyes against the frosted sun that rose above the buildings all around, pointedly ignoring the way it picked out every amber fleck within Thomas’s eyes.</p><p>“Well y’know, can’t have people getting bored of the ‘same old, same old’ now, can we?” Thomas chuckled, throwing Newt an impertinent wink before drawing a stern expression across his face and crossing the construction site to chase up the workmen currently enjoying their coffees. Newt remained in place; jaw hanging open at the stunning comment that had just escaped Thomas’s lips, in utter disbelief that someone so perfect could come out with such a backhanded insult.</p><p>Rivals it was, then.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello there! Welcome to my first fic for TMR. Before we begin, I just want to thank my two best friends Ava and Saz for all of their creative input and encouragement and for betaing this story. I LOVE YOU, GUYS.

Newt was rudely awoken prior to his alarm going off by the nagging sound of a lorry reversing down the street outside, accompanied by raised voices and the clanging of what sounded like construction materials. He slid off the mattress, tugging the duvet around his shoulders and clinging to every last drop of warmth pooling in the crevices of the sheets. Newt stumbled towards the window, one hand holding the duvet in a knot above his breastbone, the other holding two of the wooden slats of the blinds apart, allowing him to peer through the glass and out onto the street below.

 

“What th-”

 

Right beneath his window, over on the other side of the street, a team of construction workers swarmed around a previously vacant lot. Some were unloading various materials from the back of a lorry, and others were working to erect a sign on the front window of the shop. It seemed as though the latter were being directed by a tall, lean figure standing on the very edge of the pavement, his back to Newt as he stared up at the vacuous shop front.

 

“No, left a bit- I said _left_ , for shuck’s sake!” The tall boy threw his hands up in the air, letting out a sigh that was audible even to Newt’s ears; and he was a floor up from the ground.

 

The boy stalked over towards the slightly portly workman currently cradling a long white sign between his gloved hands, gesticulating wildly at the glass and quite obviously marking out exactly where he wanted the sign to be positioned.

 

His curiosity piqued, Newt headed through his apartment and down the stairs until he came to a black gloss door that led into his own little coffee shop, The Glade. He barged inside, socked feet sliding across the hardwood panels as he marched jauntily across to the front window of the shop, giving him a far better view of the construction work taking place across the street.

 

“Wicked?” He snorted as the sign came into full view, now hanging proudly upon the large expanse of glass that fronted the shop. “What kind of damn name is that, eh?” After watching the bustling workers for a few minutes, Newt shook his head, turning away from the window and heading back up to his apartment in order to prepare for the full day of work that lay ahead.

 

* * *

 

Newt looked up from where he stood idly cleaning the already gleaming coffee machine as the bell above the front door tinkled merrily, a group of grubby workmen from across the street traipsing inside.

 

“Hi there, what can I get for you?” he asked politely, quashing the smouldering interest to pry about the new shop that currently burned at the back of his mind.

 

“Make it four black coffees and four bac’n butties please, lad.” The portly man that had been hanging the sign asked, rifling through some loose change he had just taken out of his pocket. Newt nodded, bringing out four ceramic mugs and setting the coffee machine to work before calling through to Frypan, the cook, to get started on the rolls.

 

“That’ll be £5.60, please,” Newt smiled, taking the change proffered by the first man as the others chatted amicably, the cadences in their rough Southern accents stark in the otherwise silent shop. “I can bring your coffees and rolls out, if you like?” He suggested, dropping the money into the relevant slots in the till and closing it with a merry _ting_.

 

“That’d be great, thanks lad. That one out there’s a real taskmaster.” The first man chuckled, rubbing his greasy hands together as he turned and headed back out towards the construction site across the street, the other fluorescent workers filing out after him. Newt watched them leave, tracked their loping movements back across the street, the tall brunet standing among the wreckage and tapping one foot expectantly.

 

“Looks like a cheeky slinthead.” Newt muttered to himself, turning back to the coffee machine that had now finished spitting boiling water into the mugs and piling them onto a large tray. Frypan emerged from the sweating kitchen, a parcel of napkins in his hands, four golden bacon rolls hidden between the folds. He laid the food between the coffees on the tray, wiping his hands on his brightly patterned apron before heading over to open the door for the blond, who balanced the tray carefully and set off across the street to meet his new rival, a small limp hitching his gait slightly.

 

 _Not rival_ , Newt reminded himself. _What then? Fellow coffee-shop owner?_

He set the tray down in the eyeline of the workers, who gravitated towards it hungrily, leaving the visibly tense brunet vulnerable to Newt’s advance. The blonde approached him carefully, taking in his long, dusky eyelashes and the smattering of moles across his jaw and down his neck.

 

God, this guy was _beautiful_.

 

Plastering on his best smile, Newt held out a hand towards the slightly taller boy, clearing his throat to draw a little attention to the gesture.

 

“Hi, I’m Newt, I own The Glade.” The brunet turned suddenly, as though he was startled by the introduction, but soon collected himself and slid his warm palm into Newt’s own.

 

“Thomas. Manager of Wicked.” _Thomas_ smiled beatifically, offering a firm handshake before drawing back and tucking both hands into his back pockets.

 

“I don’t mean to sound rude, but what brings you down here? Y’know, with another coffee shop across the road and all?” Newt inquired politely, shielding his eyes against the frosted sun that rose above the buildings all around, pointedly ignoring the way it picked out every amber fleck within Thomas’s eyes.

 

“Well y’know, can’t have people getting bored of the ‘same old, same old’ now, can we?” Thomas chuckled, throwing Newt an impertinent wink before drawing a stern expression across his face and crossing the construction site to chase up the workmen currently enjoying their coffees. Newt remained in place; jaw hanging open at the stunning comment that had just escaped Thomas’ lips, in utter disbelief that someone so _perfect_ could come out with such a backhanded _insult_.

 

_Rivals it was, then._

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it as an insult, Newt. Just forget about it, yeah?” Alby sighed, wiping down tables as they prepared The Glade for the lunchtime rush that usually came around 12:30.

 

“Alby, he called my shop the _‘same old, same old’_! How can you say that and not intend it to be insulting?” Newt scoffed, rearranging the home-baked goods that sat on white ceramic plates in a display case by the till. “I bet his shop sucks, anyway.”

 

“Newt,” Alby’s voice took on a warning tone as the older boy straightened up and folded his arms, one eyebrow raised. “Do not turn this into a competition. That’s not what this is about.” Newt shook his head, closing the display cabinet with a soft _click_ and raising his hands in an innocent gesture.

 

“He turned it into a competition when he insulted _my_ shop, I am not the one making this a competition, Alby,” Newt rolled his eyes, looking out the front window towards the constant movement of workers painting the exterior of Thomas’ own coffee shop. “Same old, same old? What does that even mean? The Glade is innovative and exciting, much more than can be said of his shu-” Newt was cut off as Alby threw his cleaning rag across the shop and landed a perfect shot; right on the blond’s face. The latter gave a heavy sigh, pulling the rag from over his eyes and throwing it back to Alby, a considerably less amount of tension lacing his frame than a few moments previous. “I’m sorry, Alby. I know I keep going on, it’s just, The Glade, it’s my baby, y’know. My pride and joy.”

 

“I get it Newt. How about we just see how he gets on, yeah? Maybe this Wicked place is gonna be shuckin’ awesome and force us to close our doors, or maybe it’ll be really mediocre and everyone’ll boycott it and continue coming here. Let’s just wait and see, yeah?” Alby suggested, shrugging slightly as he continued to scrub at the rings of stale coffee staining some of the tabletops.

 

“Right, wait and see.” Newt sighed, resting his chin upon his palm as he leaned his elbow on the front counter, watching as the previously empty lot across the street was transformed into something really rather different.

 

* * *

 

Wicked turned out to be a great success.

 

So much so, that on the first day of service across at Thomas’ new coffee shop, they ran out of coffee beans and took in more revenue than they had expected to make in their first _month_.

 

The Glade, meanwhile, were robbed of all of their customers but one, a blonde woman named Ava who dropped in every morning on her way to work in a white pantsuit for a steaming Americano. She smiled sympathetically as she entered the shop, stealing small glances to the packed contemporary coffee house across the street.

 

It would be safe to assume that Newt was _not_ in a good mood.

 

After making Ava’s coffee and sending her off into the frosty morning sunshine, he positioned himself at the bar, drumming four fingers on the countertop and glaring over at Wicked. After a few hours of this, and no more customers, he straightened up, removing his faded apron and hanging it behind the counter. Alby looked up at the movement, abandoning his college notes for a short moment to inquire of his friend:

 

“Where are you off to?”

 

“I’m going over there. Not like I’m missing much over here, is it?” Newt replied shortly, stalking sourly out of The Glade the best he could with his limp and heading to confront the beautiful boy he’d met the other day.

 

He threw open the tasteful glass door, stopping short as he nearly walked straight into the back of a waiting customer. Peering around the woman standing in front of him, he gave a short gasp.

 

_The queue stretched almost the length of the whole shop._

 

Every table was packed with various types of consumer; a group of notorious ‘spice-boys’ cradled generous mugs of chai latte at the window bar, an elderly couple sipped cups of tea in the corner, an eclectic young woman gulped from a huge mug of black coffee as she worked on what looked like a self-portrait and two teenage girls sat with identical hot chocolates, sitting a fraction too close to be considered ‘just friends’.

 

So this was where all of his customers had gone.

 

Newt gave a loud scoff, stepping to the side of the queue and making to march up to the bar, when a mop of unruly hair caught his eye.

 

_“Chuck?!”_

Chuck was one of The Glade’s most loyal customers, and had been from day one. He was a small, plump boy, around 5 foot 7 in height, with a mass of wiry curls upon his head. He came into The Glade every Saturday morning for a cup of hot chocolate and a sugar doughnut with the meager allowance his parents awarded him. To see him here, in _Wicked_ of all places, was a shock to Newt’s system.

 

“Oh, Newt, um-” Chuck smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck with one hand, the other curled tightly around a ragged £5 note. He obviously had no excuse for his presence in the shop of Newt’s rival, and the latter let out an exasperated sigh, continuing his staggering march towards the bar and till-point.

 

“Hello? Greenbean?” Newt called, slapping a hand down upon the marble countertop and leaning across it in an attempt to look menacing, a mean feat when you’re 20 years of age and have the complexion of someone a decade younger. The boy in question turned around from where he was filling coffee cups, a bright smile gracing his features when he spotted the blond.

 

“Newt, hi! What brings you over here?”

 

“Listen here, slinthead, when you flounced down here with your pretty face and your fancy drinks and your matching aprons, I didn’t know what to expect, but y’know what I sure as shuck didn’t foresee?” Newt ranted, gesticulating wildly as he spoke. “You stealing all of my bloody customers! You’re competing with the wrong damn shop here, Tommy, the wrong one, y’hear!” The blond finished, crossing his arms and tilting his chin up defiantly, doing his best to school his impish features into a serious expression. The whole shop fell into a deafening silence, save for the smooth atmospheric music that lilted in the background. Pleased with his impact, Newt gave a triumphant grin and turned on his heel, grabbing Chuck by his collar and dragging the young boy behind him as he crossed back towards The Glade. He left in his wake a coffee shop full of patrons and ‘rival’ employees alike, all simultaneously unnerved and slightly in love with the usually unflappable blond.

 

“Man, he’s cuter than you made him out to be.” Thomas’s coworker, a tall Asian boy named Minho, chuckled, nudging Thomas in an attempt to remove him from the Newt-induced stupor he had fallen into. The brunet simply laughed in response, resuming his former position at the coffee machine, mind buzzing with the image of the defiant blond dragging a pudgy, curly haired kid behind him into The Glade. 

* * *

 

 

Two weeks into business and things were still going swimmingly at Wicked. They had picked up a few regular customers; a free-spirited brunette named Brenda who often sat at the corner table with a cappuccino and a stick of charcoal clutched between her fingers and a shy boy named Zart who was studying botany at college and enjoyed nothing more than a nice pot of freshly brewed tea while working on his dissertation.

 

However, the owner of Wicked, a rather serious looking man named Mr. Janson, dubbed Rat Man due to his rather unfortunate appearance, had decided that the workload was too much for the current two employees, and had thus placed an advert in the local newspaper appealing for a barista. They’d had an overwhelming number of replies, but after a comprehensive series of interviews, Janson had narrowed the applicants down to just two; a boy named Aris and a girl named Teresa.

 

Aris had already arrived and had finally found the right coffee shop after a quick run in with Gally, one of the baristas from The Glade. Gally was a cold-hearted son-of-a-bitch, albeit with a closet love for musicals, who probably ate the dreams of small children in order to feel a sense of joy or fulfillment. Aris had unknowingly stumbled into The Glade, without looking up at the huge metal sign that hung proudly above the door, in an attempt to escape the snowstorm raging in the streets. Gally had taken the opportunity to mess with Aris’s head a little before the latter had finally realized that he was in fact _not_ in the calm, atmospheric coffee shop that he had deigned to work in.

 

He’d made a clean escape and currently sat nursing a mug of spiced latte as they waited for Teresa to arrive. Thomas stood behind the cash register, nervously sifting through the coins and ensuring each one was in the correct compartment while Minho busied himself preparing a pot of sweet tea for their first customer of the day, an old dear named Dot who seemed to have taken a shine to Thomas in the past few days.

 

Once Dot was safely seated with her tea, newspaper and a jam doughnut, Minho returned to the counter, fiddling with the artful badge made of a chunk of slate that was pinned onto the front of his apron.

 

“If she doesn’t show up in the next 20 minutes, I suggest we just get started showing Aris the ropes.” Minho shrugged, leaning against the counter and watching the blizzard raging outside, a few brave souls battling against the gale-force winds as they traipsed to and from the few shops that lined the street. Thomas made an affirmative noise of agreement in the back of his throat, shutting the cash register with a soft _clink_ and turning his attention the same way as Minho’s; outside. The Glade was hardly visible through the flurry of snowflakes being swept through the air, although Thomas could just make out the soft amber glow of lighting through the white haze. The three boys sat in silence for a while, the only sounds in the coffee shop those of the smooth backtrack or of Dot taking a heavy sip of tea.

 

With a minute to go until Minho’s ’20 minute deadline’, the door to Wicked swung open, bringing inside a freezing cloud of snowflakes and a tall, slender figure wrapped up in a furry coat and a thick scarf.

 

“Sorry I’m late!” came a soft, throaty voice, the cadences identifying it as that of a female. The girl stamped her feet a few times in order to remove the snow clinging to her boots and removed her coat and scarf, shaking off both items and hanging them on the wooden rack by the door. She turned around and approached the three boys at the counter, her blue-eyed gaze immediately picking out Thomas and latching onto him. “I’m Teresa.” She smiled slightly, extending a hand towards the brunet and giving a firm shake.

 

“I’m Thomas, this is Minho, and you already know Aris from the interviews. Obviously, you two are the successful candidates, which is why you’re here right now. Teresa, if you want to pop your name down on your tag then clip it onto your apron, we can get started?” Thomas smiled, handing a small piece of slate and a stick of chalk to the dark haired girl. She nodded in response, leaning on the counter and carefully inscribing her name on the slate in fancy letters before clipping it onto the front of the charcoal grey apron and tugging the latter item on over her head. As she tied the apron, Thomas moved towards the coffee machines and threw himself into a long tutorial on how the blasted things actually worked.

 

* * *

 

It was 12:30pm, the busiest time of day for Wicked, and they’d run out of the most integral component for all of their drinks; milk.  The nearest supermarket was 17 miles away, much too far for a quick stop-and-go trip, so Thomas had to settle for the next best solution to the problem.

 

Asking The Glade for some milk.

 

Thomas was loath to show such weakness only two weeks into running Wicked, but they desperately needed that milk. They had a tiny dribble left in the current carton and a queue of parched customers snaking across the shop floor. At this very moment, Thomas’ pride was quashed by the need of his customers, and he grabbed Teresa by the arm as she swept past him to put a cheese and ham Panini in the microwave.

 

“Teresa, I need you to do me a favour. I need you to go across the road to The Glade and ask them for some milk. Beg, if you must. We’re desperate.” Thomas pleaded, squeezing Teresa’s shoulder before taking the plate from her and shooing her towards the door. Teresa nodded, her expression akin to that of an eager-to-please puppy as she turned on her heel and made her way towards the coat rack, tugging on her thick parka and heading out into the snowstorm that continued to rage outside.

 

Shielding her face from the onslaught of tiny snowflakes with her hood, she trekked through the powdery snow and eventually entered The Glade with a tap of her boots against the mat. The other coffee shop was quiet, a lone patron sitting at a comfortable booth with what looked like a croissant and scrambled eggs. There was only one boy behind the counter; a tall, beautiful blond with dark eyes that narrowed slightly when they fell upon Teresa.

 

“Can I help you?” He asked, tone polite but cautious as she approached him with a bright smile plastered upon her face.

 

“Hi, I’m Teresa, I work across at Wicked,” She introduced herself, missing the way the blond’s mouth tightened into a thin line and his back straightened into a position most ballet dancers would envy. “Basically, we’ve run out of milk and-”

 

“Are you here to spy on us?” Newt interrupted, folding his arms and staring at Teresa with one eyebrow raised, posture schooled into one that radiated a defensive aura.

 

“What, no! We just need to borrow some-”

 

“He sent you over here to spy on us, didn’t he!” Newt demanded, his words only instilling a further sense of confusion within Teresa. She shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose as she looked past the blond, tilting her head this way and that as she tried to spot any other colleagues. The boy before her, however, was not content at being ignored, and simply stepped to the side in order to interrupt her eyeline.

 

“Look, I’d really appreciate it if you’d stop being such an immature slinthead and just lend us some milk, _please_.” Teresa sighed, her voice strained, along with her patience. The blond’s antics were wearing her thin and she knew that she had no time to waste caught in the midst of petty games between this boy and her own manager.

 

“I can’t do that.”

 

“ _What_?!”

 

“I said, I can’t do that,” The blond stated calmly, shrugging his shoulders as if to say _‘tough klunk’_. “That would be helping the enemy, and if I recall correctly, one should not aid their rivals in any manner.”

 

“Oh my god,” Teresa snapped, slamming her hands down upon the wooden counter as she leaned across towards the other boy, their noses almost touching as she looked him straight in the eyes. “You’re going to give me a carton of milk, then I’m going to leave and get back to my own job, and then once my shift is over, I will _personally_ drive to the nearest supermarket and buy you a fresh carton. Deal?”

 

The blond eyed her warily for a few seconds before finally letting up and relaxing, turning his head slightly to call over his shoulder:

 

“Frypan, bring me a carton of milk, please?”

 

A few moments later, a slightly portly boy emerged from what Teresa assumed was the kitchen, a fresh carton of milk in his hands. He handed it to the blond carefully before scampering back into the kitchen, clutching his puffy chef’s hat with one hand.

 

“This is an exceptional circumstance,” the boy stated as he handed the carton to Teresa, his sheer tone indicating that this would _not_ be happening again. Teresa nodded curtly, taking the milk and expressing her thanks before tugging her hood up again and leaving the shop, kicking piles of snow across the street as she crossed back to Wicked.

 

“Man, that guy has some spade up his ass.” She muttered to herself, cradling the carton of milk between her hands carefully as she entered her own shop, Thomas running over to her almost immediately and grabbing it gratefully, already screwing the cap off as he hurried back to his position by the coffee machines. Teresa followed after hanging her coat up again, leaving the last few snowflakes clinging to the sleeves to melt in the cozy heat that hung in the air inside Wicked. The queue had lessened considerably since she’d made the short trip across the street, leading her to believe that the last few customers had either not ordered a drink requiring milk or had luckily chosen one of the chilled drinks on display in the cooler by the door. As she resumed her work, Teresa found herself wondering about the strange blond from The Glade and pondering the origin of his vendetta against them. She resolved to enquire about it once the day was done.

 

* * *

 

“Newt, you really didn’t have to make such a scene when that girl came in here earlier.” Gally sighed, dutifully slicing Frypan’s latest traybake into evenly sized squares and arranging them on a tray to display in the glass cabinet by the till. Newt rolled his eyes in response, huffing slightly as he shook a little chocolate powder over the top of a mug of cappuccino for a waiting customer.

 

“I’ve told you once and I’ll tell you again, Gally: we’re competing with them now. And don’t say that I’m overreacting; he started this when he referred to _my pride and joy_ as the same old, same old.”

 

“Newt, you have got to get over that! I don’t know why you care so much about something some guy you don’t even know said in jest,” Gally sighed again, sliding the tray of rocky road into the display cabinet and turning to lean one hip against the counter, watching as Newt slid the cappuccino over to the customer with a winning smile. The blond then turned his attention to his coworker, leaning an elbow atop the counter and resting his chin in his palm, opening his mouth to speak just as Gally gave an evil smirk that could only suggest that he was scheming something. “Unless, you fancy that Thomas guy way more than you’re prepared to admit and you’re using the whole ‘competition rivals’ thing as a façade to hide the fact that you’re totally in love with him!”

 

“Gally, of all the stupid things you’ve ever said, that has to rank the highest. Yeah, he’s hot, but he’s a right slinthead.” Newt snorted in response, shaking his head at the other barista.

 

It was no secret that Newt was gay; he’d been open about it ever since opening The Glade and hadn’t withheld the information from his coworkers or his customers. He’d been in a few semi-serious relationships, but nothing at the present moment, and was quite happy to admit that he wasn’t looking for anything either. Between college and running The Glade, his schedule was already jam-packed, and fitting in a lover between coffee and The Beat Generation would prove a difficult task. Gally, however, seemed loath to accept Newt’s excuse and simply rolled his eyes, pushing himself off the counter and heading back into the kitchen to help Frypan as he created yet another delicious lemon drizzle cake, leaving Newt to stare out through the snow in the direction of Wicked and consider his attitude towards the other employees.

 

Okay, so maybe he was overreacting a little, but shoot him for not taking kindly to someone that had the _audacity_ to insult something he’d worked his ass off for. That pretty much explained his feelings towards Thomas, but as for the whole competition between the two shops? Newt had no idea why he’d decided to try and establish this kind of rivalry when The Glade and Wicked would probably fare far better from smooth relations between the two, but he was in no position to back down now. No way; he refused to turn tail and flee at the slightest hint of a challenge, even when his near-empty shop was testament to the fact that he appeared to be losing said battle.

 

Plus, healthy rivalry was a good thing… Right?

 

* * *

 

 

Closing time loomed at Wicked, and all four employees were currently clearing up the shop after another successful day of trading. Minho and Aris were cleaning out the microwaves and coffee machines while Teresa wiped tables and Thomas sorted out the cash register and took note of their revenue for the day. The brunette took this opportunity to inquire about the state of relations between The Glade and Wicked, clearing her throat to draw the attention of her three coworkers.

 

“So I was wondering, what’s the deal with this place and The Glade? Some blond guy over there was pretty hostile when I went over earlier.”

 

Minho gave a soft snort of laughter, trying his best to muffle it behind his hand and continue wiping down the microwave that was splattered with melted cheese that had long since gone hard. Thomas sighed, looking up from where he was arranging the pound coins and allowing himself a quick glance across to The Glade. The snowstorm had died down, a few lone snowflakes fluttering through the air, allowing him a clear view across the street and into Newt’s own coffee shop. The blond appeared to be alone and was throwing the seats up onto the tables in order to give the floor a customary sweep before the following day.

 

“I don’t really know, to be honest. Newt appears to have taken it upon himself to establish some kind of competition between our shops. I think he’s kinda sore about another coffee shop coming down here and ‘taking his customers’.” Thomas shrugged, the coins clinking together softly as he arranged them into small piles.

 

“The situation probably isn’t helped by the fact that Thomas has a massive crush on the guy and wants nothing more than to have his babies.” Minho added, letting out a bark of laughter and dodging out of the way as Thomas tried to whip him with a towel that sat on the counter.

 

“Don’t lie, Minho. It’s not a redeeming quality.” Thomas reminded the other boy, closing the cash register with a soft _ting_ and looking up towards Teresa, the brunette seeming unsatisfied with his answer.

 

“I get that he’s upset about another coffee shop moving into his patch, fine,” she shrugged, continuing to wipe down the marbled tabletops. “What I don’t get is why he has to be such an ass about it. I mean come on, refusing to lend someone _milk_? What age even is he?”

 

“From the looks of him, I’d say about fourteen?” Minho quipped; this time yelping as Thomas successfully whipped him across the back of his thighs with the towel.

 

“I think he just seems pretty stubborn, T,” Thomas shrugged also, reaching around to untie his apron and hanging it on the wall rack by the stairs down to the store room. “We’ll just need to wait and see if he warms to us soon.”

 

“I think there’s more chance of Hell freezing over first.” Teresa muttered to herself, sparing another glance across the street to the blond boy as he swept the floor of The Glade.

 

The whole situation perplexed her, and she wanted to find out more.


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, Thomas was taking his time selecting the perfect iced bun. After a few tense minutes of searching, he held the chosen one aloft, and, after nodding grimly at Minho, readied himself for the achievement of glory.
> 
>  
> 
> The iced bun was indeed glorious in its final moments, disappearing in two seconds flat...and reappearing in roughly the same amount of time as Thomas realised two rather life-changing things.
> 
>  
> 
> One, Newt had just flung the door open and was striding directly towards him, and two, this iced bun was really just a tad on the generous side.
> 
>  
> 
> By the time Newt reached him, Thomas was standing in the midst of a mini explosion of crumbs, teeth uncomfortably glued together, Minho had doubled over and was now clutching a mug to his ribs as he howled with laughter, and Teresa and Aris were sniggering away as they poured milk and dashed vanilla, stepping nimbly over the mess on the floor as they hurried to keep up with the flow of customers that all managed to find some excuse to linger and goggle at Thomas.

Another full week had passed since the milk incident the previous Monday. Teresa had kept to her promise and had dutifully driven to the nearest supermarket in order to pick up a fresh carton for The Glade. Newt had taken if from her with a scowl that seemed unnatural upon such elfin features, muttering a disgruntled “thanks” under his breath before stomping back through to the kitchen. Alby, the ebony skinned assistant manager of The Glade had simply shrugged apologetically, causing Teresa to let out a loud sigh and turn on her heel out of the shop. 

 

A further week had passed since then, and Teresa found herself no further forward with Newt. Whenever she entered The Glade in an attempt to reconcile their rocky acquaintance, she was turned away with the proclamation that Newt was ‘busy’.

 

Busy, Newt was. Though not in the way one would expect.

 

Rather than sorting through hefty piles of taxes and accounts, Newt was holed up with his laptop, slowly trawling through every review of his rival shop that existed on the Internet. One website compiled every review and rating and came up with an overall score for the amenity being assessed.

 

“Wicked is good?!” Newt snorted in disbelief. “Not bloody likely.”

 

(It was then that Newt actually realized that he had never tried anything from Thomas’ shop, and was thus in a very poor position to pass judgement on the quality.)

 

“Shuck it.” Newt shrugged, clicking the little blinking button that said ‘Review’ and giving a truly terrifying grin as he bowed to his keyboard and began to type.

 

* * *

 

 

Wicked was always closed on a Tuesday, so Thomas and Teresa spent the day preparing for the nation’s favourite holiday. They worked to the sound of tinny Christmas tunes on the radio and stopped at lunchtime for a mug of eggnog and a warm toastie. Thomas perched on the counter and took a generous gulp of said eggnog while surveying their progress thus far.

 

The front window of the shop was illuminated with strings of white fairy lights along each edge, while the bar itself was decorated with a few genuinely tasteful handmade garlands of cinnamon sticks and slices of dried orange. Teresa had taken it upon herself to hang a token sprig of mistletoe above a small, cosy alcove towards the back of the shop and secretly hoped to catch a few unsuspecting couples unawares.

 

For once, the street outside was peaceful, bathed in a warm amber glow from the old fashioned lampposts that still adorned the pavements. It was still early morning and the sky had not yet cleared, snowflakes hanging in thick pockets up above.

 

The lack of a raging blizzard meant that Thomas could easily look across into The Glade, where Newt currently sat at one of many empty tables, a forgotten mug of something once steaming by his side as he typed furiously on his laptop. Thomas allowed his gaze to travel easily over the blond’s features, bathed in the soft static glow of his laptop screen. There was no doubting that this boy was beautiful, with small golden curls falling around his ears that promised of cosy nights curled up in front of the fire. It perplexed Thomas no end, as to why this angel harboured so much hatred for him.

 

“I’ve been trying to work it out, y’know,” Teresa sighed, slipping into the seat next to Thomas and following his gaze across the deserted street to The Glade. “As far as I can tell, you’ve given him absolutely no reason to hate you, besides opening up a stellar coffee shop right across from his.”

 

Thomas sighed in response, turning his thoughtful gaze onto Teresa and resting his chin on his palm. “Isn’t that just a bit childish, though? To build up such an unwarranted hatred of someone just because they pose a little bit of competition to your business?”

 

“I think we pose a bit more than just some competition, Tom,” Teresa pointed out, inclining her head towards The Glade’s empty campus. “We’ve kinda robbed him of all of his customers.”

 

“But that’s not my fault!” Thomas whined, throwing his head into his hands and knotting his fingers in the hair above his ears. “What am I supposed to do?!”

 

“I say leave the slinthead to it,” Teresa shrugged, popping the last bite of her toastie into her mouth and wiping her greasy hands on her jeans. “He started this stupid rivalry thing in the first place, it’s not up to us to finish it,” With that said, she slid off the stool she had been sitting on and rounded behind the bar, lifting a cardboard box full of small ornaments and dropping it atop the counter. "Now, c'mon. Stop thinking about your little boyfriend and help me finish decorating this place."

 

Thomas gave a resigned sigh, draining his mug of eggnog before standing and resuming his work as "All I Want For Christmas" began blaring from the radio. 

 

* * *

 

_1 week later_

 

As the clock struck twelve noon, Newt let out a soft sigh, scanning the breadth of his shop despondently. The only audible sounds were Frypan and Gally bickering amicably in the kitchen as they created a fresh batch of blueberry muffins and the _tap tap tap_ of Chuck's fingers against the buttons of his Nintendo. Chuck was, in fact, the only patron currently occupying a table in The Glade; he sat with a generous mug of hot chocolate and a sugar donut before him, engrossed in an intense game of Mario Kart. He did, however, look up when he heard Newt's small exhale, and paused his game in favour of standing and ambling over to the counter. 

 

"Are you alright, Newt?" He asked carefully, resting one arm on top of the counter and leaning over it slightly. 

 

"Not really, Chuck. I mean, look at this place," Newt snorted. "Dead as a bloody doornail." 

 

"Y'know, you should go over there and speak to Thomas. Show him how you feel about this whole thing."

 

"You mean I should go over there and confront those Neanderthals?" Newt frowned, turning slightly and peering through the front window into Wicked. The place was packed, as per usual, and Thomas buzzed about in the midst of the fray, a winning smile plastered upon his face as he spoke to customers here and there. 

 

"Neanderthals? That's a bit harsh, Newt. It really isn't that bad over there," Chuck sighed, tugging on his curls in exasperation. "C'mon, let's go over and get a drink or something, maybe it'll change your opinion of them." 

 

"I doubt _that'll_ happen." Newt rolled his eyes, though he did push himself up off the counter to collect his coat and follow a rather excited looking Chuck across the road to the fiery pit of Hell known as Wicked. 

 

* * *

 

For the most part, business rolled along smoothly as ever across the road in Wicked. Today, however, there was tension in the air.

 

"No way, Thomas. Have you even seen the size of those things? Impossible."

 

"God dammit, Minho, stop trying to bring me down. Just watch and be wrong, my friend, for you are so wrong you'll never be able to get your orders right ever again." Any customer would've walked past the scene and sensed nothing amiss, Thomas standing with his arms firmly crossed next to the counter, an eyebrow raised at his coworker and best friend, Minho, who was shaking his head in disbelief while loading used mugs into a small crate. The customers, sadly, were wrong. It was war.

 

War, and a fresh batch of iced buns.

 

"No shuckin' way," Minho repeated stubbornly, flashing a winning smile at a leaving customer before turning back to his friend.

 

"You really believe I can't fit this entire iced bun in my mouth?" Thomas grinned, determination flashing in his eyes, "Come on, where's your sense of adventure?!" He leaned over to prod one of the glistening white hillocks with a chocolate-powdered finger, crouching until his nose nearly brushed the plate.

 

"More like where's that snarky little boyfriend of yours," Minho muttered under his breath, lifting his eyes briefly to make sure Thomas was still engrossed with his cakes. Luckily, he was. Minho cleared his throat to capture his attention, rapping a plastic knife against the mug he'd just picked up. "Hey, Tommy," he smirked, pausing before delivering the final blow, "I bet you."

 

Thomas must have cricked his neck, such was the speed with which he looked up. "You bet me?"

 

Minho simply nodded, putting his crate down and leaning against the nearest table to watch, "I bet you, hmm, let's see...a bacon butty from The Glade, that you can't get that entire iced bun in that shuck mouth of yours."

 

"The Glade?" Thomas' eyes widened as he realised what Minho was implying, "You mean, whoever loses has to go over to that pit of vipers and come back in one piece with a bacon butty?" In one swift move he was leaning over the counter to seal the deal with a firm handshake and a self-assured grin. "You're on."

 

From behind their respective coffee machines, Teresa and Aris simply rolled their eyes at each other and went back to taking orders.

 

Meanwhile, Thomas was taking his time selecting the perfect iced bun. After a few tense minutes of searching, he held the chosen one aloft, and, after nodding grimly at Minho, readied himself for the achievement of glory.

 

The iced bun was indeed glorious in its final moments, disappearing in two seconds flat...and reappearing in roughly the same amount of time as Thomas realised two rather life-changing things.

 

One, Newt had just flung the door open and was striding directly towards him, and two, this iced bun was really just a tad on the generous side.

 

By the time Newt reached him, Thomas was standing in the midst of a mini explosion of crumbs, teeth uncomfortably glued together, Minho had doubled over and was now clutching a mug to his ribs as he howled with laughter, and Teresa and Aris were sniggering away as they poured milk and dashed vanilla, stepping nimbly over the mess on the floor as they hurried to keep up with the flow of customers that all managed to find some excuse to linger and goggle at Thomas.

 

"Neanderthals! The lot of them! I told you, Chuck!" Newt yelled, throwing his hands into the air and turning on his heel to storm back out of the shop, abandoning his curly haired companion at the counter. The latter simply glared down at Thomas, ignoring the fact that the older boy seemed to be choking on a worryingly large lump of iced bun, and tutted obnoxiously. 

 

"You had one job, Thomas, one job!" Chuck sighed in despair, stomping out of the shop behind Newt and causing Minho to buckle over once again, shrieking manically with fresh peals of laughter. 

 

* * *

 

A few hours later, once Thomas had dislodged a soggy piece of iced bun from his trachea and had swept up the crumbs littering the floor, did Ratman enter the coffee shop, his signature glower doing nothing to ease the growing nerves of the patrons nursing various hot drinks in all corners of the establishment. Ratman had this presence about him that always made you feel on edge, whether you were acquainted with him or not. So, it was safe to say that Thomas was completely devoid of comfort as he watched Ratman approach the bar, the latter’s brows laced together in a frown.

 

“Thomas.” Ratman began seriously, sending a pang of fear through said employee.

 

_Dammit, I’m being fired. He found out about my iced-bun cock-up and I’m being sent to the slaughterhouse. Good job, Thomas._

 

“Sir?” Thomas swallowed, wringing a ratty cloth between his hands and fighting the nervous urge to start wiping down the counter again. Ratman opened one side of his leather jacket, pulling out a small tablet from the inside breast pocket. He set it upon the counter, looking up at Thomas unnervingly before sliding his finger across the screen and unlocking the tablet in a completely sinister fashion.

 

Thomas gave in to his nervous tic and began wiping down the counter.

 

Ratman brought up a page on the Internet; a review page, to be exact. Thomas frowned slightly, watching out of the corner of his eye as Ratman typed, painfully slowly, mind you, the name of his precious coffee shop into the search bar at the top of the screen.

 

“I don’t normally do this,” Ratman gave a sickly sweet smile, if that was even possible, stabbing the screen and opening the first result that came up for reviews of Wicked. “But I gave in to the burning temptation, and I was not terribly pleased with what I found, Thomas.”

 

Said employee took a slight step backwards, only for Ratman to push the tablet into his hands, gesticulating wildly at the open review. Intrigued to see what had the older man’s goat up, Thomas allowed himself to peer down at the screen, to find a shocking 0 star review for his seemingly stellar establishment.

 

**Wicked is good?! Pfft, hardly. They have the worst chocolate éclairs I have ever had the displeasure of tasting. Oh, and the coffee tastes like bloody dishwater.**

**Anonymous**  

At first, a short burst of anger coursed through Thomas. How dare someone bring such shame upon his coffee shop?! However, on closer inspection, Thomas broke out into a fit of laughter, handing the tablet back to a rather bewildered looking Ratman.

 

“Thomas? Have you lost your mind? This is hardly a laughing matter!” Ratman scowled, clicking his fingers in front of Thomas’ face in an attempt to break him out of the hysterical stupor he seemed to have fallen into. After a few moments, Thomas took a few deep breaths and calmed himself sufficiently, gesturing to the display case that held all of the baked treats that Wicked offered.

 

“Mr. Janson, we don’t even sell chocolate éclairs.” Thomas chuckled, shaking his head at the sheer stupidity of whoever had decided to post such a brash review. The other man looked startled for a few moments, allowing his eyes to rove over the display cabinet and coming up short in his obvious search for the incriminating baked good. However, in true style, Ratman redeemed his former intimidating pose and schooled his expression into one of disgust mixed with a small amount of anger. What a professional.

 

“Well, how do you explain this review? Have you made an enemy of someone, Thomas?” Ratman inquired, tucking his tablet back into his pocket and resting his arms on the counter, cocking his head slightly as he waited for Thomas’ response.

 

Thomas shrugged slightly, replaying the words of the review in his mind before slowly shifting his gaze across the street towards The Glade, looking in through the large bay window and spotting Newt serving a customer in the corner of the shop.

 

_“… but y’know what I sure as shuck didn’t foresee?! You stealing all of my bloody customers!”_

 

A slow smile crept onto Thomas’ face as he realized the true culprit of the damning review. Of course it had been Newt.

 

That just left the question of how to deal with him.

 

* * *

 

Another working shift at The Glade drew to a slow and unsatisfactory close, with Alby flicking through the day's takings while Newt worked on a college paper that was due the following morning. The dark skinned boy sighed heavily, sifting through a few ratty notes and loose coins before slamming the cash register shut. 

 

"That's yet another loss, Newt. We can't keep going like this." Alby called across the empty cafe, rubbing a hand across his face in exasperation. Newt looked up with a matching expression, dropping his pencil into the middle of his chunky American Literature textbook in a resigned fashion. 

 

"What am I supposed to do, Alby? Just shut up shop? Wicked is obviously superior to us, and until something gives, we're just going to have to settle for being second best."

 

"Newt, this isn't being second best," Alby spoke in a low, warning tone, hanging up his apron before approaching Newt's table and perching upon the edge. "This is us approaching bankrupt." 

 

The blond gave a heavy sigh, running long fingers through his curls and closing his eyes for a moment. When he spoke again, it was with a flat, defeated tone. 

 

"Well, what do you suggest we do?"

 

"We either approach Thomas for some help, or we up our game." Newt mulled over both options, deliberating as to which would be the lesser of two evils. Despite the fact that the whole rivalry klunk with Wicked was not only getting underhand but also incredibly tedious, Newt was stubborn as sin and was not willing to give in to Thomas just yet. That left the task of upping their game; of reinventing their products in the hope of pulling more customers in through the door. 

 

(Currently, Newt would love to have more than one customer a day walk through the door, but that could be wishful thinking for now.)

 

"Let's have a meeting tomorrow morning. We'll come up with something new and hopefully it'll get people's attention," Newt rubbed his eyes, closing up his textbooks and resting his chin atop the pile. Alby looked down at him doubtfully, rising from the edge of the table and giving a small smile before he headed out of the door and into the murky evening. "It's gonna take a bloody Christmas miracle." Newt muttered to himself, letting out a strangled groan before tipping his head and burrowing his face into his books.

 

* * *

 

After yet another profitable day at Wicked, the core base of staff were convening in order to discuss their next move regarding the review Newt had left for their shop. 

 

"I say we march right over there and confront him," Minho shrugged, tearing a large chunk off the end of his iced bun and throwing it into his mouth, chewing while he spoke, "If he has the audacity to post such a klunk review, we should just respond the same way and give him a taste of his own medicine." 

 

Teresa rolled her eyes, exchanging a look with Aris that clearly said, "We're surrounded by shucking idiots", and hooked Minho's plate away from him with her forefinger. The latter yelped in response as his glorious iced bun was dragged away from him and reached for his prize, only to be knocked back with an icy glare from Teresa. 

 

"You need to learn some manners, Minho, both when you're eating and in courtesy," Teresa snapped, placing the plate with the sorry looking iced bun on it well out of Minho's reach before settling back against the counter. "You really think marching over there and screaming at him is going to solve anything? Plus, if I remember correctly, you still have to go over there and get a bacon butty for our victor here." She smirked smugly, patting Thomas on the shoulder.

 

"Actually, our _victor_ here didn't manage to keep his iced bun down, so technically, I'm the real winner." Minho raised his chin proudly, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow as if to say, _"Take that, bitch"_.

 

"Oh come _on_ , Minho, at least he managed to fit it all in his mouth, which is more than can be said for you-"

 

"Of course he could, he's the one out of the two of us that actually likes _boys_ -"

 

"Guys, come on! Can you quit arguing like petulant children for two minutes so we can actually discuss the problem at hand here?" Thomas sighed in exasperation, rubbing a hand down his face before looking around at his friends, a pleading expression painted upon his face. 

 

"Right, sorry," Teresa cleared her throat, settling back down into her usual business mode. "I say we leave him be. Like I said to you the other day, Tom, he can finish this whole rival business." Aris nodded his agreement, gazing thoughtfully over at The Glade and watching the blond in question with his face pressed against a hefty looking textbook. 

 

"I say we leave him alone, too. Poor guy looks stressed enough without Superman over here waltzing over and shouting abuse at his shuck face." 

 

Thomas made an affirmative noise, turning his head slightly to follow Aris' gaze over into The Glade. He was right; Newt did look stressed. His curls were dishevelled, long fingers knotted in the hair falling behind his ears, and he now appeared to be repeatedly banging his head on the front of his book. Numerous cups were littered around him, all probably long empty, and a half eaten sandwich sat by his left elbow. 

 

And in that moment, Thomas couldn't help but bitterly resent this stupid rivalry between their shops.

 

And not for the first time, either. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again!! i do apologise for the delay in posting this chapter. i was pretty stumped for ideas, ngl, but i got there! 2 exciting changes have been made to this account, the first being that it is now owned by myself and my best friend, saz!!! she actually wrote the iced bun scene for me so you can thank her for that masterpiece. secondly is the name change, also courtesy of saz! expect big things from us, my friends... 
> 
> love, rac x

**Author's Note:**

> So there we have it! I hope you enjoyed! Thank you so much for reading, it does mean a lot. Love you! Rac x


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